


The Scorching Inquisitor

by PinkAfroPuffs



Series: The Scorching Inquisitor [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Male Character of Color, This elf has an Irish lilt, Time to write Elven gods better, and he's coming for blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-23 16:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16622489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkAfroPuffs/pseuds/PinkAfroPuffs
Summary: Sometimes, people underestimate you because you're soft-looking. Sometimes, you just have to use your fist to make them understand the truth.





	1. The Inquisitor, Boxing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dread Wolf take you, shemlen.

The Inquisitor was never late for meetings, especially briefings for special sets of troops, but he was late today. Usually, there was a special request for him _not_ to come, given all of the work that he was doing, and nobody got to see him up close. Today, this special set of recruits were all gathered in one room, waiting for a man that some supposed would never come.

However.

After what felt like forever, and Cullen was set to call it quits, in stomped a Dalish elf with stark white hair and skin to match. The markings on his face were red against his fair complexion; against his skin, the red-brown color of his eyes darted across the room and then he walked to the center of the stage. He looked rather young, though in his eyes, he seemed old; hair slicked back so that one could see the extent of his youthful features, the serious expression made one question whether he was lost in thought or had  just received the consequences of a decision he’d made sometime before. There was something red blossoming from the collar of his coat, and against his face was a splatter of red-brown liquid that looked a lot like blood, its splatter narrowly missing his flat nose. Still, when he faced the crowd, he was cheerful, even delighted, when he addressed them.

“Hello everyone!” He said, the Dalish lilt clear on his tongue. “I’d first like to welcome you to the Inquisition. It’s very nice of you to join us, given this is a good cause and all, but I’d like to lay down the first, most important rule of being in our army.” He waved his hand around. “It’s to respect one another.”

There was a bit of murmuring from the crowd, and Cullen sort of shifted his weight in the back, obviously unsure of where this was going, but also sure that it wouldn’t go anywhere good.

“Now, now, I’m sure you all thought this was a given. I sort of think it should be too, but I say it because it would keep people from a lot of the trouble we run into here. Be respectful of your peers and even your friends! Especially your friends, really,” he laughed. “Wouldn’t want them t’ turn on you in battle, would you?”

A bit of laughter rippled through the crowd, and the man nodded. “See? Now, the reason why this is important, is because you _never_ know who you’re talkin’ to!” He exclaimed, and Cullen’s eyes went wide as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Me, comin’ in here, who do you all think that I am. Does anyone know my name?”

No answer. There was some uncomfortable shuffling, until a young woman said, “You haven’t introduced yourself, ser.”

“Yes! Exactly! And, if you don’t know my name, you don’t know my station, correct?”

There was some affirmative murmuring from the crowd. The elf made a lot of sense, after all.

“So when I tell you all, that some bloke, not knowin’ I’m the Inquisitor, told me that I was late, and should’ve been in the servant’s quarters, I wasn’t sure of what to say.” He laughed, though when the words reached them, the crowd went entirely silent. One could hear a pin drop.

“Now, I had nothin’ against this bloke, you know? Common mistake, I know there are quite a few elves in the Inquisition, and given our standin’ in the world right now, a lot of us work as servants. Most people ain’t seen me, after all, so I wasn’t mad about it. I said, ‘No, ser, I’m a soldier.’” Which he was, as Inquisitor. “Now, this would’ve been well and good, if this _fuckin’ bloke_ hadn’t said, ‘Oh? You don’t look like you’ve fought a day in yer life. Too soft.’”

By now Cullen was hastily walking to the front of the room, ready to stop this catastrophe. “Inquisitor-”

“No, no, let me _finish_ ,” he waved him off in the way he would his younger brothers when they got too close to adult matters. It didn’t matter to him if anyone thought he was ridiculous by now, he was going to _finish_ . “So I says to this bloke, ‘Why don’t we take it down to the courtyard, serah, so we can see who’s a soldier and who’s not’. And this _fuckin_ ’ bloke says to me, this fuckin’ bloke!” He jabbed his finger at the audience. “‘Don’t blame me if I break yer pretty nose’.”

The Inquisitor folded his hands behind his back and closed his eyes, tilting his head slightly to the side as he did. Cullen pressed his lips together, somewhat embarrassed, but Mamoru, the dalish elf and Inquisitor, continued. “So what I’m sayin,” he smiled, “is that if this bloke respected me when he saw me, he wouldn’t be laid out in the courtyard right now, and I wouldn’t have these bloody fuckin’ knuckles from bare-knuckle boxin’ the stupid son of a bitch.” For extra measure, he held up his hands, one Marked, to show the audience his rather impressive, completely bloody, scarred knuckles, a jarring sight against his stark-white skin. “And blood stainin’ me good robes. That’s all for today, recruits.” He chirped. “Thank you for joinin’ the Inquisition, and may the Creators guide yer paths.”

Then, he turned on his heel and left.

Cullen pressed one gauntlet to his forehead and cursed. “Maker.” They’d never take him seriously now. He knew he shouldn’t have called the Inquisitor in for this.

“Was that seriously the Herald?” Whispered one.

“Maker’s breath. I’ve never-”

“Did you _see_ his knuckles?”

“Alright, alright, enough!” Cullen commanded. “I...apologize for the Inquisitor. He must be having an off day. Moving on,” he said, going into something boring, like military strategies.

He’d gotten it all wrong, though, like he usually did. Between the whispers and giggles, the outcome of the story was clear. Any man that would fight at the drop of the hat would fight for them. Morale had never been higher.


	2. That Inquisitor, Admired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Check. And checkmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there's romance. I just gotta write it.

“I’m just saying, Inquisitor, that without a firm and steady hand, the mages _will_ become uncontrollable,” Cullen was saying. His eyebrows furrowed at the chessboard, tuning out the birds chirping in the distance and the chatter of distant Chantry women in the background. “The templars were and still _are_ a needed organization.”

“You say, to a mage,” answered the Inquisitor, and as it was his day off, his fluffy, wavy hair was not slicked back, and instead hung freely in his face and covered his pointed ears. “And I never said templars aren’t necessary at all. _I_ said, that as an institution, they need a lotta work if they’re going to be viable as anything other than broken police and abusers in the future.” He moved his piece, nodding slowly as he did. “Check.”

“That’s…” The commander made a noise in the back of his throat. Mamoru was at first unsure if it was about the conversation at hand, or the pieces on the board, but then Cullen cleared it up right away. “I suppose you do have a point. It’s just...I’ve _seen_ some things, Inquisitor. I have a healthy fear of mages, and it’s a bit...tough to shake those fears.”

Politely, Mamoru nodded, considering his words. “Nobody said those fears were ill founded, general,” his red irises scanned the board, planning about two moves ahead, “but you aren’t the only one who matters, and your viewpoint isn’t always going to be the right one. Checkmate.”

The lion of Ferelden leaned back a bit. “Well, it took longer for you to beat me this time, but I’ve got to say, losing to you isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

He smiled. “You’re very good yourself, Cullen. You just don’t look at all of the pieces, sometimes,” his eyes flickered to Cullen’s king and his index finger flicked it over, “that’s all.” After a beat, he put his hands on his knees and looked up at Cullen. “You’ve got to remember that the mages are our soldiers, too. You’ve got to treat them like they’re your men, not your enemies. When people trust and respect you, there’s less room for infighting and discord. The fight at Haven was one of those things, commander,” he rolled his own Queen around with the tip of his finger, “and you decided it was better not to take sides, when someone was being disrespected, and another demanded to keep disrespecting.”

The corner of Cullen’s lip twitched ever so slightly as he listened; he was used to the Inquisitor’s direct manner of speaking, and though he hadn’t thought about Haven in a long time- much less that event, back when the Inquisition had first begun- he realized suddenly that the Inquisitor saw and took everything into account, even if it seemed inconsequential to others. “...right. I keep forgetting you’re a mage,” he mused.

“You forget?” Mamoru laughed, and though it was not unkind, he was certainly baffled.

“You’re so...practical. Orderly. Maybe it’s...excuse me for saying so, but maybe it’s because you’re Dalish.”

Mamoru’s eyebrows went up. “Are they saying those things about my people now? That instead of eating babies that we’re all wise old owls?” He barked a laugh. “I’m just a man like you, commander. Just of a different sort.”

Of all the information he could have given him, nothing would have struck Cullen more than saying that. Of course. How silly of him. The Inquisitor was just a man, after all.

“Well!” Mamoru smacked his hands on his knees and grabbed his coat from off of the chair as he stood to his feet. “I’ll be off for now. I’ve some other things to check on before nightfall, y’know. It was nice playing against you, Cullen. If we can, I’d love to do this the same time next week?”

He grinned a bit. “Dorian’s got next tuesday booked on that front, but you can come watch, if you want to see me get my arse beaten again.”

“Hah! I’ll come, but not to see you get your arse beat,” Mamoru smiled, “I’ll be coming to watch you win.”

* * *

 

When the Inquisitor ran past him again, Bull didn’t even look up. Usually, at this hour, the Inquisitor was going upstairs to check on Sera in her room, or Cole in the rafters, though not before talking with Maryden out front, and Scout Harding in front of the tavern. Cassandra, despite not being on the best terms with him, could count on him training with her in back, and Blackwall could depend on him to chat about horses or...whatever that weird guy talked about with him. Good man, funny, but weird as all get out. Bull was glad to call him a friend.

“Oh, Bull!”

He looked up to see the Inquisitor, fair complexion flushed so red from running around that he looked like a tomato. “How’re you today?”

“Good to see you, boss. Something you wanna talk about?” He noted that Mamoru was doing his best to seem composed, like he’d just been on a light run and not running across the castle to spend time with each and every one of his inner circle (even the ones he did not especially like).

“Oh, it’s not too important. I wanted to see how you were doin’. I did wanna ask, though, did you want a new sword? I was thinking of outfitting you with a new one, made of silverite.” His eyes sparkled just a bit as he said this, and Bull, who took note of the excitement and _energy_ in his tone sort of nodded.

“That sounds great, boss,” he sort of smiled. “We heading out tomorrow morning?”

“Yes! The Emerald Graves! I’m so excited!” He exclaimed. “I know you’re not too fond of trees, Bull, but I heard there’s a _dragon_ there!” Giddy, he laughed. “We might not go straight for it, though. We might die if we did it tomorrow.”

He liked that about him, actually. The foresight in his decisions. “Hey, better to be offed by a dragon than a demon,” he laughed, and Mamoru readily agreed.

“Oh, and I didn’t want to bother you, but…” He seemed very careful about asking this. “...could you ask Cullen to come for Wicked Grace tonight? We’re startin’ early on account of tomorrow, but I know he’s not too confident after last time. I think if someone like you asked, he wouldn’t be able to say no.”

“Oh yeah?” Now this interested him. “So the commander admires me, huh?”

“The way you fight, he gets a bit homesick from not bein’ on the front lines anymore,” Mamoru laughed. “I don’t blame him. It’d be a great favor to me, though, Bull. But you don’t have to. I could always get Dorian to guilt him into it.”

He found himself chuckling at that. Dorian and the boss weren’t on the best terms right now, what with that fight about slavery they’d had (Bull wasn’t going to bother getting into that one) and though he was polite about it, it was clear that Mamoru restrained himself from decking the Tevinter mage every time he saw him. Safe to say they didn’t quite make up yet. “I can do that, boss. No worries. Long as you’ll be there to tell another one of your wild stories when you lose a hand, I’m in.”

“Hah! I might not lose this time!” The Inquisitor cried. “I’ve been practicing with the mabari in the back! I’ll see you later, Bull, hopefully with some new armor for you, too!”

Watching him go was rather nice, but he never said it outright, like Dorian did. He just closed his one eye and smiled to himself. That man needed to take it easier, but he’d never take anybody’s advice on it. “Nice talkin’ with you, boss.”

“And you, Bull!” He waved without looking back as he jogged out of the tavern.

* * *

 

“So I sat there with the hunters, barbecue sauce on my tit,” the Inquisitor started, and the whole table roared with laughter. Bull even leaned back too far in his chair and almost fell off of it, and Sera, who was under the table already, started beating on it from underneath.

“I guess they got the stories all wrong. You Dalish really do everything _but_ dance naked in the moonlight,” Varric offered, and everyone at the table laughed.

Cullen, who had managed to keep most of his clothes on this time around, put his cards down with a chuckle. “I’m folding.”

“You better,” quipped the Inquisitor, who’d been forced to take off his own coat and was only wearing his undershirt, “if you hadn’t learned about playing against Josephine by now, I’d have to sit you down as commander for a while for lackin’ common sense!”

Josephine, who had won the last three rounds could only smile that sweet (though somewhat coy) smile she always gave when she’d been sneaky about something. “Thank you, Inquisitor. I’m glad we can count on some wisdom in these times. Shall we go another round?”

“I’m afraid not, Ambassador. We’ve an early morning tomorrow, so it’s time to call it quits while we can all sleep off the spirits,” there were a couple of groans (and a boo from Sera), but Mamoru clapped his hands the same way he did to round up his siblings back home. “Alright, up, children, time fer bed! Or whatever you do before you travel in the morn!”

With a little difficulty the players began to file out of the room, though Varric, the very last one to leave, tapped the Inquisitor’s shoulder. Arms crossed, he glanced to meet Varric in the eye, only to see the dwarven rogue smiling at him. “Yes?”

“Y’know Inquisitor, you do an _awful_ lot to make sure everyone’s comfortable.” He said.

“Do I?” Mamoru smiled. “I just try to treat people like my own family. It keeps us grounded.”

“Maybe _too_ grounded,” said Varric, gesturing to Sera, who’d fallen asleep under the table.

“You’d know a lot about bein’ grounded, eh, Varric?” He quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Very funny, Inquisitor. I’ll see you tomorrow, since I’m sure Sera won’t be ready to go in the morning.” He waved his hand.

“See you.” Mamoru waved with two fingers, then put his hands on his hips. “Now how’m I going to get Sera outta here without biting me in her sleep again?”

* * *

 

Mamoru did not expect to find a new staff propped up against his desk when he woke the next morning. In the middle of getting dressed for their early departure, he found it there, clearly Dalish in craftsmanship, and enchanted with powerful runes he wasn’t sure he’d seen anywhere outside of books.

“Oh, my…” Its weight wasn’t much different from his own staff, and as he spun it around, he noted the engraving of his name in the wood. There was no note or reference concerning who the gift was from, just the lingering feelings of the craftsman and the warmth of gratitude.

He fingered the ornamental symbol at the top, the enchanted torch that gave it the look of a fire always burning, though it wasn’t hot and wouldn’t harm anyone at all.

He pressed his lips together and shook his head before grabbing his pack and heading out to the courtyard, considering if he should say anything about it.

“We ready to head out, boss?”

He’d delegated Bull, Dorian, and Varric for the first part of the mission, with Cassandra, Vivienne and Cole on secondary reserve, but the entire inner circle was waiting for him, either to bid him farewell or set out.

With a careful sweep of his eyes, he took them all in; some dewy eyed and tired, others well rested and alert, all comrades in arms that needed him.

No. _He_ needed _them_.

“Ma serannas.” He said aloud. Some of them looked back at him confused, but Solas nodded. “Thank you. All of you. For bein’ with me thus far.”

“Nothing to it,” said Blackwall, “now are we moving or are we moving?”

The Inquisitor laughed. “Alright! Let’s kick some ass!”


	3. The Inquisitor, burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As rare and powerful as dragon bone armor. Unless you have a mod, or something.

The Inquisitor held his breath. Completely serene, he pressed the back of his head to the trunk of the tree and waited. 

The stomping in the distance briefly shook the earth beneath him. He didn’t dare move. Something warm was trickling down his brow and off of his cheek, but he didn’t wipe it away. Red templars were still about. Larger than life and sometimes as big as giants, they were formidable, even for the scorching Inquisitor- not that he called himself that. 

Giant footsteps stopped just east of where he was hiding; the rest of his crew had been ordered to retreat somewhere nearby, where they wouldn’t be seen, hopefully to heal up. Mamoru, though. He’d stayed close on purpose. 

It made him very angry to have been blindsided by such an attack; he’d made careful plans about trying to take this particular castle, and having them destroyed by some rogue red templar made him want to-

He quelled the fire in his stomach.  _ Not now. _

The noises finally passed, away from he and the campsite. The Inquisitor released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Safe. For now. When he was sure the dust had cleared, he used his staff to help himself to his feet and quietly jogged to camp. 

* * *

“Is everybody alright, then?”

The whole party turned to look at him. He seemed to have called the retreat right on time, because there were minimal scars and bruises on each of them. “We’re fine, Boss,” Bull replied. “Where were you? It’s been more than half an hour.”

Mamoru didn’t answer that question on purpose. “You all’ve seen the healer, it seems?”

There were a couple of nods, but Varric seemed dubious. Vivienne was putting something on her face- probably a salve, despite appearances- and though she seemed like she wasn’t listening, Mamoru knew that she always was. 

“Well, then let’s get t’ exploring elsewhere. We’ve still got some daylight!” He exclaimed.

A couple of eyebrows went up. Varric, who seemed aware that this was coming, said, “Mm...see, Inquisitor, I don’t think that’s a bright idea. You look like you need some rest, yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he shrugged. “Just a lil’ stiff, is all.”

“Your hand looks pretty fucked up, boss.”

For the first time since the encounter with the templars, Mamoru looked at his left hand. Red and blotchy (and a bit burned by his own spell) it flared up at him in pain, though he inspected it with a very calm and measured expression. After a brief pause, he walked over to the medicine tent, grabbed some bandages, and wrapped them tightly around his wounds before pressing his fist to his side. “Done. Let’s go.”

“And what about your head, dear?” When Vivienne spoke up, everyone turned to look at her, though her own eyes were on the mirror. “You must have hit it somewhere for it to be bleeding like that, much less to be saying such things when you’re in that state.”

He wanted very much to argue, but when she reminded him, the throbbing headache, the ache of his back, and the open wound in his right arm began bothering him all at once. He pressed his lips together to hold back the instinct to scream. 

“Besides, Inquisitor, everyone knows you stay behind to make sure we all get away. Maker knows you need the extra rest to make up for it.” She examined her expression, closed the mirror with a simple snap, and put her ornate horned cowl back on. “I’ll scout the area with The Iron Bull, and Varric will stay behind with you. We won’t fall behind that way, will we, dear?”

Whenever she spoke this way he was reminded of the Keeper; strong and no-nonsense but  _ kind _ in her own way, Vivienne always had a way with words and here he wanted to be angry about it. He couldn't, though. He didn’t have enough energy. “.....fine. I’ll stay. But if you aren’t back in two hours-”

“Then you’ll send the scouts for us. Of course, my dear,” she waved her hand. “Take care of yourself in the meantime.”

Annoyed, he waved his hand dismissively, but he went to his tent. It was only when they were gone that he sunk unto his cot like it was the best mattress he’d ever slept in, and fell straight to sleep.

* * *

 

“Got a moment, Boss?”

Though the scar in his forehead had healed well, it still hurt to look directly into the light. As Iron Bull naturally stood at a very high altitude and he had to look up, Mamoru found his head aching  _ just _ a little more when the crack of concentrated sunlight cast a shadow over the Qunari’s face, and he squinted at him. “Sure,” he shrugged, “but not here. Too bright for me.”

Bull nodded and gestured away from the area. “Better to walk, anyway.” 

The courtyard was always crowded with new people joining the inquisition, so instead, they walked on the ramparts for some more privacy. 

“So what is it, Bull? Do I need t’ tighten up or something?” He sort of joked, but really, it was a little nerve racking to consider why  _ Bull _ wanted to see  _ him _ , and not the other way around. Though Mamoru considered them close, the Iron Bull had never been much of a talker, and though he liked that about him, it just emphasized how important using his words had to be in this situation.

“Opposite, actually.” He turned to face him, his one eye trained on him in a way that felt stern, but not unkind. “You know, as a Ben-Hassarath I’m trained to get a good feel for people real quick. And you, boss, I think I’ve got pegged.”

“You think?” Mamoru raised an eyebrow.

“I  _ know _ ,” he asserted. 

“Well, alright. I’m curious, then,” Mamoru crossed his arms, suddenly defensive, “what is it you’ve found out about me that you just  _ had _ t’ share?”

Bull seemed to notice the Inquisitor’s hackles rising and took on a more calming tone. “I’m not saying you’re a bad general, Inquisitor. What I  _ am _ saying that a dead Inquisitor is much more useless than a live one.”

Mamoru pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. “Alright. A valid assessment. Anythin’ else?”

“You don’t have to convince other people you’re tough, boss.” 

He stopped. For a moment he could see Bull differently, the hard lines against his eyes a bit soft, kind,  _ compassionate _ , but it was gone in an instant, replaced with another of his masks. “We all know you’re made of the good stuff. Like, dragon bone, or something.” He nodded a little when he reached his conclusion. “Anyway, you get hurt, we get hurt. Your Inquisition is only as strong as you are.” A heavy hand came down on his shoulder as Bull passed him, reassuring and strong. “That’s all, boss. Take care of yourself. I’ll be in the tavern if you need me.”

He was frozen there, the Inquisitor, for a while, as he contemplated Bull’s words. 

_ “You don’t have to convince other people that you’re tough, boss. _ ”

Mamoru played that over in his mind a couple of times, wondering why it felt so good to hear that. Was it validation? Relief?

_ “You’re made of the good stuff. Like dragon bone.” _

His chest sort of tickled as he walked down the stairs, unsure of why he couldn’t stop smiling. His ears were burning, too. Childish. He chalked it up to the heat.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently working on more chapters of this, mostly because Mamoru was an old character that turned out to be one of my best Inquisitors- along with Robin, whose works are now going up. I had a lot of fun writing these, and I hope you enjoyed reading it/them as much as I like writing them!


End file.
